


Give Me One Reason

by deanswingsbothways



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 23:40:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanswingsbothways/pseuds/deanswingsbothways
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're never going to find a solution to this Mark of Cain problem, so Dean takes matters into his own hands to save the people he loves. (Or: My secret wish for how Castiel drops the L-bomb)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Give Me One Reason

All it took was one phone call.

"Winchester." Cole’s voice was frigid.

"I need your help," Dean said without preamble. "I know we didn’t exactly part friends when your devil’s trap didn’t hold me, but I need a favor."

"Why the hell would I do you a favor?"

"I need you to find a way to kill me."

Cole didn’t need telling twice. He took the mission parameters (some way of killing Dean that would stick, something so scorched-earth that he wouldn’t come back as a demon but would stay dead) and promised to get in touch when he knew anything.

Dean mostly spent the interim weeks locked in his room, staring at the Mark of Cain, willing it to stop driving him to kill. There had been a shaky moment on a hunt when the First Blade had ended up in his hand without him knowing how or why. He had stepped ever so slightly towards Sam, and that right there was the damn deal-breaker.

He wasn’t going to keep looking on the sunshiny side of life with this one. His ability to keep the Mark under control was tenuous at best, Cain had been no help, and he had almost gone after Sam. He wasn’t going to trust their ability to find an answer before he did something he couldn’t come back from.

When Cole called him two weeks later, Dean only half-listened to his spiel about a cursed knife that dissolved magical bonds while the victim bled out. He asked Cole where he wanted to meet for the handoff.

“You think I’m a moron?” Cole snapped. “This is all probably a trap. It’s in the mail.”

Three days later, Sam threw a rectangular box in his direction on the way to the library and Dean nearly sobbed in relief.

“Hey, Sammy?” he said, willing his voice not to crack.

Sam raised his eyebrows as he poked his head back around the library door. “Yeah?”

Dean took a deep, shaky breath. “I, um. You. You’re not a half-bad brother, you know that?”

Sam’s eyebrows raised impossibly further, practically in his hairline. “You too, Dean. Anything we need to talk about?”

“Nah, man,” Dean said, waving his hand in Sam’s direction. “I just don’t. You know. Say that often. And you are. Shut up.”

Sam made no further comment, but a grin slashed lines into his cheek as he ducked back into the library.

Dean looked at the box, decided there was no time like the present, and headed for the bathroom. Five minutes later, he was standing in one of the shower stalls (for easy cleanup, he was being considerate). There was a note taped to the bathroom mirror that just said, “It’s still making me something I don’t want to be.” Sam would understand.

The blade wobbled as the thought he’d been keeping at bay this whole time soared into the forefront of his brain. Cas would understand, too.

He pushed down the parts of his mind that were clamoring for him to pray to Cas, to explain, to talk to him just one last time. To see his stupid new trench coat and stupid blue eyes one more time before he never saw anything again. He couldn’t, he wouldn’t let himself.

Cas would just muddy the waters. He’d throw out unfounded comments like _you deserve to be saved_ and _you think this was your fault_ and _you can’t save everyone, my friend, though you try_ until Dean couldn’t think straight enough to make the right call.

He’d probably also look at Dean, and Dean couldn’t handle it. Couldn’t handle the way Cas’ eyes bored into his like they saw every dirty thing in Dean’s head and still thought he was worth a damn.

He let himself have one brief moment of regret for all the things he’d meant to say and never gotten around to actually saying, then settled the blade firmly against his ribcage, just over his beating heart.

Which was when the actual Castiel decided to make an appearance right in front of him, trench coat and Righteous Angel Scowl firmly in place. Dean’s hand, clenched around the knife, slowly fell to his side as he gaped at the angel.

“Sam!” Cas barked, his eyes never leaving Dean. “You were right. Get in here.”

“Dammit, Dean,” Sam yelled as he marched over. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Saving your life,” Dean said sardonically. “You could try being grateful instead of, what, tattling on me to Cas?”

“You shared a feeling without prompting,” Sam said, crossing his arms. “I knew something was up, so I called Cas. You would have done the same thing.”

“Maybe I would have trusted you to make your own decisions,” Dean shot back.

Sam’s bitchface was enough of an answer to that. He eyed the knife, but both he and Castiel seemed reluctant to make a grab for it. That was smart, considering Dean was so hopped up on Mark of Cain power that he could probably stab them before they got it away.

It occurred to Dean what a strange picture they must have presented. Him in the shower stall holding a knife, Sam and Cas glowering at him from the tiled stall dividers at the entrance. One corner of the pushed-aside curtain was gently curling around a fold of Castiel’s trench coat. Everything smelled vaguely of bleach and mold and the weird lemony tile cleaner Sam kept buying, which seemed incongruent with the seriousness of the situation.

Dramatic self-sacrifice shouldn’t smell like lemons, goddammit.

“Dean,” Cas said, doing that scrutinizing eye-contact thing that made Dean itchy all over. “I understand why you feel that you need to do this, but we can find a solution.”

“It’s been months,” Dean said, and his anger was building steam now. “We’ve looked everywhere. Even Cain couldn’t help. If I don’t do this, I’m gonna end up hurting you or Sam, and that is not going to happen, you hear me?”

“You don’t think we can handle ourselves?” Sam asked, and Dean heard the tiny barb of hurt in the question.

“Not against someone who’s juiced up on Mark of Cain steroids,” Dean shot at him. “Not against someone you trust to watch your back. You wouldn’t even know it was too late until I kebab-ed you!”

“Is this about what happened a few weeks ago?” Sam demanded. Dean hadn’t even realized that Sam had noticed. “You stopped yourself. I had a hand on the demon knife the whole time, Dean. I’m not oblivious. Why do you think we’ve been taking it easy ever since?”

Funny, Dean thought taking it easy had been his idea.

“Well one day you’re gonna be too slow and I’m gonna be too fast,” Dean argued. “This is the best way to keep you safe. To keep everyone safe.”

“This isn’t even in the top fifty best ways to do that,” Sam said.

“It’s quick, it’s easy, and then I don’t have to worry about hurting anyone else ever again,” Dean said, and he was ashamed to notice that his voice had turned pleading.

“You don’t think it’s going to hurt us if you’re dead?” Cas asked flatly.

“You’ll get over it,” Dean said, flapping a hand dismissively. “You’re basically immortal. In a couple hundred years you won’t even remember it happened. Nobody asked you to butt in and make yourself part of our screwed up family.”

“Dean - ” Cas started, but Dean didn’t want to hear it.

He lifted the knife. “Any better arguments? No? Good.”

Quietly, so quietly that Dean almost thought he’d imagined it, Castiel said, “I’m in love with you.”

Dean glared at him and said, “No one asked you to do that, either.”

But he was sufficiently distracted enough for Sam to put his hand out, quick as a flash, and yank the knife from his grip.

“Dammit, Sammy!”

“I’m taking this far away from here,” Sam said placidly. “I won’t be back for hours. Hint hint.”

And then he turned on his heel and stomped out of the bathroom.


End file.
